


Oh! My Love: A Christmas Snippet

by consultingclassicist



Series: Make This Old House Home [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-05 01:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17315531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingclassicist/pseuds/consultingclassicist
Summary: Their first Christmas in their new home ought to be perfect, Ben thought. Too bad there were still boxes everywhere, no decorations on the tree, no lights on the trees or porch outside, not a single cookie to be found… none of the trappings that made Christmas and all of the chaos of moving. He didn’t even have a gift for Kent yet.Good thing Kent had a plan.





	Oh! My Love: A Christmas Snippet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lecrivaineanonyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecrivaineanonyme/gifts).



> On 14th December, I texted H: “(Also, what if I wrote a tiny Christmas snippet in the Make This Old House Home universe???)” At this point, I hadn’t finished editing Make This Old House Home. Three hours later, I texted her again: “What if I did a sort of half version of an old fashioned songfic using the first verse and chorus of Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day?? It’s...about Jesus so would be REAL SACRILEGIOUS, but…” This isn’t really a songfic, and it also isn’t really a snippet. Oops.
> 
> Anyway, if you don’t know Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day, go listen to the John Gardner setting sung by the King’s Chapel Choir. I absolutely love traditional Christmas carols, possibly even more than the ‘50s classic Christmas songs. Kent would much prefer Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You,” obviously.
> 
> This is some indulgent fucking fluff; you’ve been warned. It will make more sense if you read Make This Old House Home first. It takes place approximately two years after the epilogue of that story. It’s also not beta’ed. That was my Christmas gift to H. The story is my holiday gift to all of you, whatever holiday you celebrate. I hope you enjoy!

_Tomorrow shall be my dancing day;_  
I would my true love did so chance  
To see the legend of my play,  
To call my true love to my dance; 

_Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,_  
This have I done for my true love.  
\--Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day (trad.) 

_Thursday, December 18  
One week until Christmas_

It had snowed heavily the night before. Ben woke up at 7:30, just as the sun was rising, and the world was blanketed in white. He rolled over, ignoring everything that had yet to be done, wrapped his arm snugly around Kent’s waist, and went back to sleep.

When he woke up for real again an hour later, the spot next to him in bed was empty. Ben supposed that meant he should get up, too, even though it was the first day of the long Christmas vacation he’d taken in hopes of getting everything done. And there was _so much_ to be done. He stumbled out of bed, grabbing his sweater from the footboard as he went.

Downstairs, the Christmas tree—ten feet tall, like Kent had wanted, but scraggly as hell, as Sam had insisted when they’d picked it out on Saturday upon her return from SUNY Binghamton—was still undecorated. Ramona, the cat they’d mysteriously acquired six months after Kit’s death at the ripe old age of 21, was curled up underneath it. “Don’t even think about climbing it,” Ben admonished her as he walked past. He still hadn't forgotten the way his heart had leapt into his throat in horror when she'd done just that last Christmas.

Kent was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, contemplating his phone. A cup of coffee steamed at his elbow. Ben went over and kissed the corner of his mouth before going in search of his own morning caffeine. “What’s new in the world?” he asked, pulling out the chair next to Kent’s.

Kent set his phone aside. “Sabres blew a four-goal lead against the Schooners last night. Embarrassing.”

Ben laughed. “They’re doing that a lot this season, but I still believe in them.” Over the course of their years together, Kent had slowly educated him about hockey. Ben insisted on rooting for the most local team, though, much to Kent’s chagrin. Sam liked the Sabres, too; Ben suspected that had a lot to do with their attractive young captain. Of course, Ben made Kent watch Mets games all summer. Education was a two-way street in this household.

“‘Course you do,” Kent replied, sipping his coffee. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

It was their first Christmas in their new home. They’d taken what felt like forever to find the right house, and Ben hoped it was the last house he’d ever buy. Finally, after a lot of late nights talking it over, they’d settled on a rambling farmhouse built in 1840 that needed, to put it mildly, a _shit ton_ of work. But now they were here and the renovations were done, just in time for Christmas. Boxes weren’t unpacked, decorations weren’t up, and Ben was losing his mind.

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He needed about eight more cups of coffee before he could do anything. “Shovel. I have to unpack all my goddamn books. I would say that we need to put up some Christmas lights outside, but the snow’s going to make that a real task. Uh…” He paused for thought. “Uh, fuck, everything. Everything needs done.”

Kent reached over and put his hand on Ben’s knee, rubbing his thumb soothingly across Ben’s thigh. “It’ll all get done. Don’t worry.”

Ben didn’t know how he was supposed to go about not worrying. Their first Christmas in their new home should be perfect. It was going to set all the precedents, after all. But nothing was ready, every room was filled with boxes, he wasn’t even sure he knew where the Christmas ornaments were, and he hadn’t yet found a gift for Kent.

*~*~*~*

Kent, having sent Ben outside to shovel and snow-blow with promises that he would find the Christmas ornaments and make sure that all the book boxes were in the study, pulled out his phone. He thumbed through his contacts until he found the one he was looking for: _Swoops._

_yo Swoops what r u doing today?_

His former teammate texted back almost immediately. _Not much. Why?_

Swoops had retired the year after Kent and moved home to Buffalo, where he'd taken a job with the Sabres. (Ben gave Kent a lot of shit about this. _Your former teammate works for them. Can’t you work up_ some _enthusiasm for the Sabres?)_

_we need help. boxes everywhere and Ben’s anxious as fuck about xmas_

_first one here etc_

_and the bastard wont admit he needs help_

Again, Swoops’ reply was almost instantaneous. _Sure. What are we talking? Like, me? Or me and 4-5 guys?_

Kent would not admit to fist-pumping if anyone were to ask him about it. _y/y u and 4-5 guys would be AMAZING i’d owe u 4ever_

_On our way,_ came Swoops’ reply fifteen minutes later.

*~*~*~*

Ben came in from shoveling sweaty and thirsty. Why the fuck had they bought a house with such a long driveway? Even with their snowblower for the driveway, he’d had to shovel the walks and steps the old-fashioned way. He just wanted a shower and about eight glasses of water.

“Kent!” he called out as he filled a big tumbler at the sink. “Did you find the ornaments?”

“Sure did,” came the reply from the living room. “Sam’s going to decorate the tree as soon as we find the Christmas CDs. Can’t decorate the tree without our girl Mariah.”

Ben laughed. He’d have preferred Bing Crosby or the King’s College Choir, but if Sam and Kent were going to take care of the tree, it was one less thing for him to worry about and they could listen to whatever they wanted. “Great, I’m just going to take a shower.”

“After you do, I think we’re going to need some new lights for the boughs over the mantel and along the railing. All these strings are shot,” Kent replied.

Ben groaned. _Of course._

*~*~*~*

Mariah Carey was singing “All I Want For Christmas Is You” and Sam was decorating the tree with a motley collection of ornaments. Kent had always had his tree professionally decorated when he lived in Vegas, but now that he had the time, he could admit that this way, hanging up all the ornaments with all their family memories attached—even if not all those memories involved him—was better.

He fished his phone back out of his pocket. Next up: _Bitty._

_bits how much would 5 dozen xmas cookies cost_

Bitty took a little longer to reply than Swoops had; Kent knew it was a busy season for the bakery, of course. _For you, with shipping, $200. But don’t Ben and Sam usually bake cookies?_

_Ben is about to lose his MIND,_ Kent replied. _moving, unpacking, decorating, etc_

_Ahhh,_ Bitty sent back. _In that case, how about if Jack and I come up on Sat? We’d have to go back super early Sunday but…_

_U R A LIFESAVER,_ Kent replied. There was definitely no happy dancing along with Mariah. None at all.

*~*~*~*

“I’m heading out to get those lights!” Ben called as he grabbed his keys and shoved his feet into his ancient duck boots.

As he flicked his turn signal on at the end of their street, a fancy black Range Rover turned in. Ben didn’t recognize it. Apart from Kent’s expensive cars, most of the people who lived on their road drove cars that were more like his—practical, regular family cars. Maybe somebody’s Christmas visitors were arriving. He put it out of his mind and headed for the Lowe’s in town.

*~*~*~*

The bell rang and Kent ran to answer it. He opened the door to see Swoops with four other guys behind him. Kent laughed and pulled Swoops in for a back-slapping hug. “Hey, man, thanks for coming,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

Swoops, looking good in a fleece pullover and jeans, smiled. “No problem, man. After you helped me and Sarah out last year, I owed you one, anyway.” He turned to the men behind him. “You know Jake and Adam, they’re front office and owed _me_ one. This is Twiggy, our goalie”—the tall, goalie-skinny guy with a shock of black hair that looked as though he styled it by sticking his finger in an electrical socket gave a half-wave—“and I think you’ve met Jamie Rennick, the captain.”

Kent waved them all inside, shaking their hands. “Ben isn’t home right now. I sent him out for Christmas lights.”

The goalie, Twiggy, laughed. “Good call, man. My girl went to buy lights for the tree yesterday and she was out looking for _hours.”_

The commotion in the hallway drew Sam out from the living room. Her hands were full of ornaments that were next to be hung on the tree, which she nearly dropped when she saw Jamie. “Ah, here’s Sam! Sam, you’ve met Swoops. This is Jake, Adam, Twiggy, and Jamie. Everyone, Sam, our daughter.”

“Hi everyone,” Sam said. Kent didn’t think he was imagining that her cheeks were slightly pink.

Kent rubbed his hands together. “Okay. Let’s see. Jake and Adam, do you guys want to tackle the study? I’ll be there in a minute to tell you what goes where, but Ben packed the books pretty precisely so it shouldn’t be too hard.” He pointed them in the direction of Ben’s study at the back of the house. “Swoops, Twiggy, how about the outside decorations?” They nodded their agreement and left their coats and hats on. “Sam, do you want to show Jamie what you’re doing? I’m going to have to give up on my tree-decorating duties to show this motley crew what else needs done.” Kent was pretty sure Sam would kill him later—he knew she thought Jamie was cute—but it was worth it.

He headed outside with Swoops and Twiggy. “Okay, so, the plan is white lights on the bushes along the sidewalk, the big colored bulbs wrapped around all the porch railings, more white lights on the oak, and those icicle lights along the gutters. Uh, Swoops, maybe you should climb the ladder… I don’t know if Twiggy’s insurance will cover falling off a ladder hanging Christmas lights. Especially if it isn’t even his own damn house.”

Twiggy chuckled. “Yeah, probably not. I don’t love heights, anyway.”

Swoops nodded. “No problem. I’ll do the icicles and Twiggy can do the railings. That’s probably more his speed skill-wise anyway.” Twiggy elbowed Swoops in the ribs.

Kent got serious for a moment. “If you have any questions or, like, need help…”

“We’ll come get you,” Swoops replied. “Don’t worry, we know this is for Ben. We won’t fuck it up for you.”

Kent’s smile was small but real. “Thanks.” He headed inside to explain Ben’s alphabetizing system to Jake and Adam.

*~*~*~*

“How many _fucking_ stores does a person have to go to to find a _fucking_ string of white lights?” Ben muttered to himself as he left Walgreens empty-handed. Seriously, had no company figured out that white lights always sold out more quickly than colored ones? Apparently not.

He turned on the car and tipped his head back against the seat rest for a moment. Just then, his phone buzzed insistently where he’d tossed it into the cup holder.

It was Kent. “What,” he answered.

“Any luck with the lights yet?” Kent replied, seemingly ignoring the flatness of Ben’s tone.

Ben groaned. _“No._ Unless Sam’s relented and will let us have colored lights on the mantel this year. I’ve been to Lowe’s, Home Depot, and Walgreens so far and no luck. I was just getting ready to drive to Walmart.” It was half an hour farther away, of course, in the next town over. “What do you need?”

“Oh man, good luck,” Kent replied. “Listen, I was just doing some wrapping and I think we’re out of Scotch tape. Can you pick some up at Walmart?”

Ben sighed. “The way my luck is going, I’ll go back in and see if Walgreens has any first. Anything else?”

“Don’t think so,” Kent replied. “Good luck. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Ben replied, and hung up. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car again. This really wasn’t how he’d envisioned their first Christmas in their new home. Almost all the decorating should have been done by now, and all the boxes totally unpacked. He and Sam should be in the kitchen, baking cookies. He shouldn’t have to be out fighting the pre-Christmas crowds for two of the most difficult-to-find items at this time of year. Steeling himself, he walked back towards the Walgreens entrance. If they had tape, he swore to himself he was going to buy out their entire stock.

*~*~*~*

Having explained the careful book organization system to Jake and Adam, having called Ben to inform him that they needed tape, Kent headed to check on Sam and Jamie. Jamie had a selection of glass and straw star ornaments hanging from his outstretched hands. Sam was standing on a kitchen chair in her sock feet, reaching to hang one of the glass stars from a high branch. “Ramona likes these, so we have to hang them up high now,” she explained. “There were a couple of casualties last year.”

Jamie smiled and held out his hands for Sam to take another ornament. “I wondered why the lower branches were so bare…”

“Yeah, she’s settled down a lot over the past year, but we learned our lesson.” Sam tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She wobbled slightly as she reached out to hang the next ornament, and Jamie quickly raised his hands to steady her.

Kent smiled to himself, not having said a word, and crept away. The two of them were doing just fine. He headed outside to help Swoops and Twiggy light the porch and trees.

*~*~*~*

With eight boxes of white lights--all that Walmart had had--and a pack of five rolls of Scotch gift-wrap tape in the passenger seat, Ben pulled onto their street. _Was that… what was that Range Rover doing in their drive?_ Puzzled, Ben turned in and promptly slammed on the brakes.

In the three hours he’d been gone, the outside was almost completely decorated. White lights draped the little oak tree they’d planted last summer, and neatly covered all of the snowy bushes along the path to the front door. Strings of big colored bulbs were wrapped along all the porch railings, which had been divested of their covering of snow. A tall man he didn’t recognize was holding the base of a ladder as—was that _Swoops?_ —finished tacking up the last string of icicle lights.

It was exactly as he would’ve done it. The lights were where he and Kent had talked about putting them, and they weren’t haphazardly flung but neatly set. Shaking his head, he put the car back in gear and pulled the rest of the way down the drive.

At that moment, Kent stepped out of the front door. Ben shut off the car and, gathering up the lights and tape, got out. “You did this?” Ben asked.

Kent nodded. “With a little help from some Sabres. Swoops and Twiggy did the lights. C’mon inside, get warm.”

Ben leaned forward and kissed his husband. _“Thank you,”_ he said.

“Oh, c’mon, there’s more.” Kent grabbed one of the bags from Ben’s hands and, resting his other hand at the small of Ben’s back, ushered Ben forward.

“Dad!” Sam called. “Come see the tree!”

She’d finished decorating it with the help of—“Jamie Rennick, sir,” the Sabres captain said, holding out a hand. Ben shook it, dazedly. He supposed this was Kent’s Christmas present to Sam. They’d done a good job, and Sam kept glancing over at Jamie like she still couldn’t quite believe that he was in her house and had decorated a Christmas tree with her.

_Welcome to the club, kiddo,_ Ben thought. _Now you know how I felt when Kent showed up._ Aloud, he said, “Ben Wright. Thanks for your help, Jamie. The tree looks great, Sam.”

Sam grabbed the bag of lights that Ben was still holding. “White lights? Thanks, Dad! Jamie, want to help? It’s always a two-person job to wrap them around the mantel greenery and over all the railings.”

Ben remembered having done it by himself on multiple occasions while Sam decorated the tree and Marian baked cookies, but never mind.

Then Kent was back at Ben’s side, having deposited the bag with the tape somewhere else in the house. “One more thing,” he said.

Ben shook his head a bit dazedly. “There’s more? Kent…”

Kent leaned in for a kiss, bringing both his hands up to Ben’s face. “You’re welcome. C’mon.” He led the way to the study, throwing open the door dramatically.

It was the one remaining downstairs room where nothing had been unpacked. Most rooms still had at least a few boxes, and Ben was emphatically not thinking about the guest room upstairs that was just wall-to-wall boxes, but the study had been languishing. Now, it had been transformed. There wasn’t a box in sight. Ben’s books were on the shelves, his photos on the desk, his electric kettle and tea-making supplies on the little side table. Two men he didn’t recognize but whom he guessed were also affiliated with the Sabres stood in the corner by the windows.

Kent leaned his shoulder against Ben’s. “Don’t worry, Jake and Adam here are better at alphabetizing than I am.”

One—Jake, maybe—laughed. “Yeah, Parse put us to work in here because we both actually have college degrees.”

Ben smiled and shook both their hands. “Thank you both so much. It’s perfect. But I know who to blame if I can’t find my copy of the Chicago Manual of Style.”

Kent cleared his throat, regaining everyone’s attention. “Lunch? There’s sandwich stuff. Then I thought we could tackle the guest rooms while Sam and Jamie finish up the mantle and railings?”

For the first time that holiday season, Ben felt a spark of hope. Maybe they could have the beautiful Christmas he’d envisioned after all.

*~*~*~*

_Saturday, December 20  
Five days until Christmas_

Ben woke up with a start. _Shit,_ he thought, glancing at the clock, _was it really 9:30am?_

He sniffed when he got to the top of the stairs. Something downstairs smelled good. _Had Sam gotten a start on the cookie baking?_ They usually were well into the dozens of cookies baked by this point in the season, with plates made up for every relative, colleague, and friend ready to be delivered on Christmas Eve. He thought he could make out multiple voices in the kitchen, though, so he gave in to his curiosity and headed downstairs.

Sam, still in her pajamas, was eating a plate of scrambled eggs, drinking her coffee, and tapping furiously away at her phone. Kent was at the island, presiding over a tray of chocolate-covered pretzel sticks, laughing with…

“Jack!” Ben said, stepping into the kitchen. And there was the source of the cookie smell. “Bitty!”

Bitty slipped his oven mitts off and came over to kiss Ben on the cheek. “Surprise!” he said. “Kent said y’all needed some help this year. I made up a couple of batches of dough ahead of time--just the standards, sugar cookies and gingerbread and thumbprints, with homemade jam, obviously. But I brought ingredients for snickerdoodles and Russian tea cakes and linzer stars.” He rolled his eyes and leaned in conspiratorially. “Jack told me I couldn’t bring stuff for Italian seven-layer cookies— _that’s_ too much, _Bitty, we’re only there for one day”_ —he imitated Jack’s French-Canadian accent so poorly Ben had to laugh—“but the joke’s on him because I brought the ingredients anyway. Don’t ever underestimate me. And Kent told me y’all had two ovens and plenty of fridge space.”

Ben felt like he could have been knocked over with a feather. Kent was at his elbow with his Yellowstone mug filled with coffee. He took it gratefully and blew on it before taking a sip. “This is… thanks, Bitty, Jack.”

“What about me?” Kent asked. “This was my idea!”

Ben laughed. “Yeah, you keep decorating those pretzel sticks,” he said before curling the hand that wasn’t holding his mug around his husband’s shoulder. “Thank you, Kent. Now, what can I do?”

Sam chose that moment to look up from her phone. “I already called dibs on any and all icing!”

Ben wasn’t surprised. It had always been her favorite ever since she was first big enough to stand on a chair at the kitchen counter and “help.”

Bitty gestured to a cookie sheet of cooling sugar cookie bells and stars. “Put those on wire racks to cool? Then, once you’ve finished your coffee and had a bite to eat, you can whip up the dough for the linzer stars.”

Jack looked up from where he was carefully sprinkling the freshly chocolate-dipped pretzel sticks that Kent was laying out. “He’s running a tight ship today,” he said with a smile.

“Back to work!” Bitty said, snapping a kitchen towel at his husband. Jack rolled his eyes as if to say, _see?_

And wasn’t this a sight, Ben thought. He hadn’t known when he was going to find the time to bake _one_ batch of Christmas cookies, let alone half a dozen plus the chocolate-covered pretzels that were so time-consuming but always so popular. Two ex-NHL players were at his kitchen island, dipping and decorating pretzels, and his daughter was getting ready to ice the bells and stars as soon as they were cool.

“What’s the color scheme for the cookies this year?” he asked, as he carefully lifted cookies from the tray to the wire rack.

“White, blue, and gold,” Jack said.

Ben tumbled that over in his mind. Not traditional Christmas colors, but wintry and festive. A glance over at Sam revealed that she was studying her phone again with a deep focus that suggested… _“Sabres_ colors?” he said incredulously.

Kent groaned. “I was informed that Aces colors were _not festive,”_ he said.

Jack raised both hands in a gesture of innocence. “I’m only here for the grunt work, don’t look at me.”

_“Sam?”_ Ben asked.

She glanced up from her phone. “What, you’re a Sabres fan too! And anyway, they’re still festive.”

He couldn’t help but wonder who she was texting.

*~*~*~*

“Who wants pizza?” Kent asked, nine hours and approximately twenty dozen cookies plus two hundred chocolate-covered pretzel sticks later. Ben was pretty sure that Bitty was the only one of them who wasn’t completely exhausted, though he was at least covered in flour like the rest of them. Really, no one should have trusted two former hockey players and a spirited college student to keep a kitchen clean.

Ben raised his hand. “I’ll call. What’s everyone want?”

“Ham and pineapple!” Sam called out.

An hour later, with the last of the cookies finally out of the oven and cooling, they sat down in the living room to eat their pizza straight from the boxes. Not even Bitty could face the prospect of making more dirty dishes.

*~*~*~*

The Christmas tree lights twinkled and Bing Crosby sang “White Christmas” on the stereo. Jack and Bitty were upstairs in one of the guest rooms—Ben could hear them talking softly. Sam was upstairs in her room, too. Kent was in the kitchen loading the last of the cookie-making dishes into the dishwasher. Ben stared out the window at the snow-covered yard.

Kent came up behind him then. “Penny for your thoughts?” he said, holding out a glass of wine. 

Ben kissed him in thanks. “Just thinking about how much I appreciate you doing all these things for me,” he said. He took a sip of the wine. “I love you, Kent.”

“Love you, too,” Kent replied, kissing Ben’s cheek, before he went back to the kitchen.

But really, Ben was worrying about how he still hadn’t come up with the perfect gift for Kent for Christmas. He had a few little things, sure, but he felt like the stakes of his main gift kept rising the more Kent kept doing to make their Christmas feel right.

*~*~*~*

_Monday, December 22  
Three days until Christmas_

Ben tapped on Sam’s door before pushing it open. “Sam, do you–”

She turned towards him, pulling her earbuds out of her ears and taking her feet off her desk. She pushed the lid of her laptop closed, but not before Ben caught a glimpse of the screen. “Are you Skyping Jamie Rennick?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Sam replied in a way that definitely meant _yes._ “But what did you need?”

Ben would leave the Jamie thing alone for now. Sam was her own young woman, and Jamie seemed like a decent enough kid. “Tape, if you’ve got it, and the good scissors. By the way, what did you get for Kent this year?”

Sam picked up the scissors from her desk and handed them to Ben before fishing around underneath piles of papers until she found the tape. “Here you go. Uh, that fancy GPS golf watch. Swoops had one the last time they played, and Kent kept talking about it, you remember?” 

Ben did remember. “Won’t make him a better golfer,” he replied, chuckling.

Sam laughed, too. “Nope, but neither do the fancy clubs he keeps getting. But I wasn’t exactly going to give him golf _lessons_ for Christmas, was I?”

“Yeah, that’s probably smart of you.”

Sam wrinkled her brow. “Why’re you asking, anyway?”

Ben shook his head. “No reason, just curious. Thanks for the tape and scissors. Don’t come downstairs for half an hour or so!”

As he turned to leave, Sam was already opening her laptop back up and apologizing to the person on the other end of the Skype call. He didn’t think he had to worry about her interrupting him as he wrapped gifts.

*~*~*~*

The problem was that Kent had everything, or if he didn’t, he had the money to buy it. Their first few Christmases together had been easier. For that first Christmas, Ben had given Kent a selection of books on renovating and restoring old houses. One was a beautifully photographed book that still sat on their coffee table; another was a practical how-to guide with useful tips on period finishes; yet another was a memoir by a couple who had renovated a big old Victorian. Last year, Kent hadn’t been able to shut up about flying lessons, so Ben and Sam had gotten him five hours of flying instruction.

But this year, nothing seemed to stand out to Ben. And he was really coming down to the wire. If he paid through the nose and ordered something immediately, it might just arrive for Christmas Day. The shops in town were limited at best. He wasn’t going to find something for Kent at Walgreens or Home Depot.

_Fuck it,_ Ben thought and grabbed his keys. “Sam, I’m going out!” Kent himself was already out. When Ben had asked where he was going, he tapped the side of his nose and said, “Shh, it’s that time of year,” before leaving.

“Okay!” Sam called back.

As he pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, Ben decided to head a few towns over. Maybe the old-fashioned charm of the main street would inspire him.

*~*~*~*

Armed with a cup of coffee from a place called Graham’s— _cute, but the coffee wasn’t nearly as good as Daily Grind,_ Ben thought—he wandered along the main street. Every shop had decorated for Christmas, with pine boughs and lights and ornaments in the trees. Lighted reindeer were posed in the park near the town’s big Christmas tree, which was strung with colored lights and topped by a huge star.

The sign for Quentin Antiques caught Ben’s eye. Its owner had made almost no concessions to the season: just a pine wreath on the door with only a red bow for decoration. _Well, couldn’t hurt to look._ Better this than the kitchen-goods shop and frilly shop selling what his mother would derisively call dust collectors, at least.

A bell rang over the door as Ben pushed it open. At first, he didn’t see anyone, but then a voice called out from the back, “Be right with you!”

He took a look around. There was a pair of beautiful wingback chairs and a large clawfoot table. A selection of vintage lamps clustered in one corner, giving off a warm glow. Behind the checkout counter hung a board with hundreds of skeleton keys hanging on it.

Just then, a skinny, youngish guy appeared from a door to the left of the counter, wiping his work-worn hands on a greasy rag. “Hi! How can I help you?” he asked.

“Uh, hi,” Ben said. “I’m not sure, honestly. I’m looking for a gift for my husband, and something about your shop just drew me in. Do you mind if I just browse?”

The guy finished wiping off his hands and tossed the rag back into what Ben guessed must be his workroom. “No problem, take your time. What’s he like, your husband? Maybe I can help. I know our inventory pretty well. Rowan Quittner,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Your shop, huh?” Ben said. “Ben Wright.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the guy—Rowan—said. “People are always surprised someone so young owns an antiques shop. But I’ve always liked working with my hands.” He shrugged.

“Kent has everything,” Ben said, answering Rowan’s earlier question. He kept wandering around, running his hand over a beautiful walnut table. “We live in this house that we renovated together.”

Rowan didn’t look like he was paying much attention, writing in what looked like an old-fashioned ledger as Ben talked. But Ben would wager that he was paying closer attention than it seemed.

“It was built in 1840,” Ben continued. “It’s a big old farmhouse. But we’re not really into 1840s furniture.”

Rowan smiled. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. All I’ve got right now from the 1840s is a really tiny writing desk and some framed Godey’s Lady’s Book prints, anyway. I could be all wrong, but I don’t think your husband wants either of those for Christmas.”

“Yeah, no,” Ben replied, smiling in spite of himself. “Definitely not.”

“Okay,” Rowan said. “So… no heavy furniture, no ladies’ magazine prints. Help me out a little, here. Are you thinking furniture, something smaller? What’s he into?” He’d stopped focusing on other work and was now perched on the stool behind the counter, one foot resting on a shelf, focused squarely on Ben.

Ben shrugged. “Fast cars, sports, expensive things. No furniture.”

“Ahh,” Rowan said, hopping down and walking towards a back corner of the shop. “I have an idea.”

Ben followed, curious to see what the idea was.

And it was perfect. Rowan was holding up a vintage poster whose style reminded Ben of 1920s travel advertisements. A hockey game was in progress on ice right next to a mountain that must be Mont Blanc. The text at the bottom read “Chamonix Mt. Blanc: Tous Les Sports d’Hivers.” Ben had to laugh at the players’ uniforms, which seemed to involve absolutely no protective equipment and bare knees besides. But he knew Kent would love it.

He realized he’d been lost in thought when Rowan cleared his throat. “Yeah,” Ben said. “Sorry, it’s perfect. How did you know?”

“I didn’t, and there’s baseball and football and basketball posters in here if hockey isn’t his thing,” Rowan replied. “But I have nothing related to cars at all. Sports was the second thing you mentioned. I got a big collection of vintage sports posters a few weeks from an estate sale. So.”

“Oh,” Ben said with a chuckle. “Hockey is very much Kent’s thing.”

Rowan set the Chamonix poster down in front of the case that held the posters. “Feel free to flip through and see if anything else catches your eye.”

Ben stepped in as Rowan headed back to the desk. “Hey—any chance you have frames?” he asked.

Rowan shook his head. “No, sorry, but Mrs. Nelson across the street does.”

“Thanks,” Ben replied, before settling down to flip through the posters. The Chamonix poster was definitely the best one, but he was curious about the others. There were a lot of players and teams he didn’t recognize—he was sure someone would love the various Boston Bruins posters, but he knew Kent wouldn’t. He was also tempted by the set of posters whose tag indicated that they were from the 1976 Canada Cup. He could tell Kent about those and maybe they’d come back for them. The framed Chamonix poster was the right gift, though, Ben knew.

He paid, thanking Rowan profusely for his help and promising that he and Kent would be back if ever they needed new furniture or vintage table lamps. Poster carefully rolled in a tube, Ben headed across the street to Nelson’s, which seemed to sell photography equipment, exhibit local photographers’ work, and offer framing services.

A tiny woman with white hair pulled back in an elegant twist popped her head up from where she’d been crouched behind a counter. “Hello! Can I help you?” she asked.

Ben nodded. “I hope so. Uh, Rowan across the street said you might have poster frames?”

The woman—presumably Mrs. Nelson—smiled. “Sure do. Rowan’s a sweet boy. What size is the poster?”

Ben held up the tube. “I have it here, just bought it.”

Mrs. Nelson hmm’d appreciatively. “Christmas present?” she asked. “You left it a bit late.” Ben handed her the poster tube and she popped off the cap. Unrolling the poster, she smiled. “It is beautiful, though. And fortunately, it’s a standard size, so I can get you a frame that you can wrap and put under the tree.”

Ben released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Oh, good. I know I left it late, but–” and the whole story was tumbling out, about Kent’s efforts to make their Christmas into the one that Ben had imagined, and how hard it was to shop for someone who had pretty much everything he wanted.

“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Nelson replied, once he’d finished. “I’ll get this in a frame, and you can go look at the photos. What color frame? I have silver, nickel, gold, black…”

“Black, please,” Ben replied before wandering over to the photo gallery area of the shop.

Most of the photos on display were by local photographers and of local subjects. The scenery and state parks around the Finger Lakes featured prominently, including several shots of loons and great blue herons. Ben thought he and Kent should come back here some time, maybe support local artists. But today he was on a mission, and that was Kent’s Christmas present.

“Here you go, dear,” Mrs. Nelson said, startling Ben. “All ready.”

“Thank you so much,” Ben said, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket so he could pay.

As he stepped out onto the street, carrying his precious cargo carefully, snowflakes started to drift down. It looked like they were in for a white Christmas.

*~*~*~*

Kent’s car was back in the garage when Ben returned home, so he tucked the gift under some blankets in his trunk. There was no way he could sneak it inside without Kent catching him. He clicked the locks on the car and headed inside, depositing his boots and outer layers in the laundry room before heading to the warm kitchen.

Kent and Sam were both there, laughing about something on Sam’s laptop. “Nice wreaths on the windows,” Ben said, startling them both. “What’s got you two so excited?”

“Kent bought them, and I helped him hang them all up,” Sam replied. “Is it still snowing out there?”

Ben nodded as he went to turn the kettle on. “Sure is,” he said, as he pulled out mugs and the tea for himself and hot chocolate for Sam and Kent.

“We were just talking about the Sabres,” Kent replied. “Anyway, were there any more decorations you wanted to put up this year? I think that’s it, right?”

Ben nodded as he stirred the hot chocolate. “It is. Thank you, guys.” Christmas wasn’t going to skip over the Wright-Parson household after all.

*~*~*~*

_Thursday, December 25  
Christmas Day_

Still in the plaid pajamas Kent had given him last Christmas—Kent probably had meant the old-fashioned flannel PJs with their button-down, collared top as a joke, but Ben thought they were cozy—Ben headed downstairs to finish putting the gifts under the tree. It had snowed again overnight, but only enough to cover the old snow with a fresh coat of powder. He yawned as the coffee brewed.

Not long after he’d taken his first sip, Sam stumbled into the kitchen. “Coffee?” she asked plaintively.

Ben handed over a mug wordlessly. Sam had started drinking coffee at college, and with three coffee drinkers in the house when she was home on break, he and Kent had invested in a fancy industrial-sized coffee machine. None of them were particularly verbal before caffeine. “Merry Christmas, Dad,” she said, after a few sips.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he replied, giving her a hug.

“Where’s Kent?” she asked. “Santa’s been! The faster he gets down here, the sooner we can eat breakfast and the sooner we can open presents.” She hadn’t lost the giddy Christmas-morning delight she’d had when she was little. She was pretty much grown up now, but it was reassuring to know that she was still his girl.

Ben laughed. “Still in bed. We’ll give him a few more minutes.”

But as though he’d known they were talking about him, Kent came down the stairs, yawning. Ben handed him a mug of sweet, milky coffee and kissed him as Kent took it. “Merry Christmas, my love,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” Kent replied.

“Great, now that the coffee and kissing and Merry Christmas’ing is out of the way,” Sam interrupted, “who’s in charge of French toast this year? Kent burnt it last year.”

Kent laughed. “Yep. Ben, looks like the honor is all yours.”

Ben shook his head with a rueful smile. “One of these years, Sam, it’ll be your turn. Kent and I will sit around with our feet up and you can bring us coffee and make us French toast.” He began pulling eggs and milk out of the fridge and shooed the other two over to the kitchen table. “Go sit down, it’ll be ready in a minute. Bacon?”

Sam switched on the old stereo on her way to the kitchen table, and Bing Crosby began to sing “Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!” as the French toast cooked.

*~*~*~*

Most of the presents had been opened. Kent had been delighted by the Chamonix poster and was already making plans to hang it in the living room. He’d also suggested that he and Ben take a trip to Chamonix that winter, and Ben hadn’t immediately shot down the idea. When he’d opened Sam’s gift, Kent had grabbed her around the shoulders and given her a noogie. But now he was trying to figure out how to program his favorite local golf courses into the watch, so Sam had done well. Ben was wearing the cozy wool slippers Kent had given him. Kent had also given him a big new monitor for his office. “I’m tired of listening to you complain about how you can’t fit three open windows on your current screen,” he’d said in explanation. “Now you can probably fit about six.”

“Thank you,” Ben replied. He never would’ve bought it for himself, but Kent was right about how much he complained.

Ben had given Sam a Rennick jersey. In his defense, he’d bought it long before the man himself had shown up on their doorstep. She’d pulled it on immediately over her pajamas. “So, uh, this is probably the right time to tell you that I’m going to visit Jamie for a couple of days next week. For New Year’s Eve.” She was blushing, but had that look on her face that meant she’d made the decision and wasn’t going to let Ben or Kent stand in her way.

Ben glanced over at Kent to see if he’d known about this plan. It was pretty clear that he hadn’t, but also clear that he wasn’t surprised. Neither was Ben, really. He’d heard from Kent about how quickly Sam had gotten over her shyness around Jamie, and he was pretty sure the two of them had been texting and Skyping regularly.

“When were you planning to tell us?” Ben asked.

Sam looked shifty. “Uh, like, the 27th? I’m gonna drive out on the 30th. But I was gonna tell you, I swear.”

Ben’s attempts to keep a smile off his face failed. “Alright. Yes, you can go. Are you just going to drive straight back to Binghamton from Buffalo?”

“Yeah, probably,” Sam replied. “Hey, since all the presents are open… I’m gonna go give Jamie a call and let him know that I’ll definitely be there.” She was already pulling her phone from her pocket as she clambered off the sofa and headed for the stairs.

Ben took advantage of her departure to get up for some Christmas cookies and to toss another log on the fire. Biting into a linzer star, he sat down closer to Kent and rested his head on his husband’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas,” he said as Kent wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“It’s been a good one,” Kent said, gazing into the fire.

Ben nodded and swallowed the last of the cookie. “Yeah, it really has.” He turned his head slightly so he could press a kiss to Kent’s jaw. “Thanks.”

“I was going to say ‘anytime,’” Kent replied, “but, like, let’s never move in December again.”

Ben laughed. “Yeah, good plan. Let’s not move again for a while.”

Ben could feel Kent nodding more than he could see it. “Yeah. Hey, we can make having the Sabres decorate our house be a new tradition.”

“Depending on how things with Sam and Jamie go…”

“It could be a Wright-Parson family tradition! Decorating for Christmas and dating pro hockey players.” Kent was definitely teasing now.

“Parson-Wright,” Ben replied before sitting up. He glanced outside. “Hey, it’s snowing.”

Sure enough, it was; big, perfect, puffy flakes falling straight down and settling on the snow.

“I’ll get dinner going soon,” Ben continued. “But wanna go outside and make snow angels with me?”

Kent was already getting up from the sofa. “Race you!”

By the time Ben pulled on boots and hat and scarf and jacket over the pajamas he was still wearing, Kent was already outside, standing just off the porch with his tongue stuck out to catch snowflakes. They were settling all over his hat and the shoulders of his coat, too. “My mom always asked me if they tasted sweet,” Ben said.

Kent turned to him. “They do,” he replied. “Not as sweet as you, though.” He pulled Ben to him for a kiss that went on and on. It was cold outside, but Ben didn’t feel it. “Merry Christmas, Ben,” Kent said when he finally broke the kiss.

And so it was.

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> I have no strong feelings about the Sabres, chose them for geographic reasons, and have obviously invented the characters affiliated with the Sabres (except Swoops, but he's also fictional).
> 
> I asked H when the last day I could reasonably post a Christmas fic was. With Christmas travel, I knew I wouldn’t finish it for the 25th. I also suspected I wouldn’t finish it before 1st January. “Epiphany,” she said. (That’s tomorrow, 6th January.) So, here we are!
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have read, left kudos, and/or commented on Make This Old House Home. It’s warmed the cockles of my cold heart so much. I hope you’ve enjoyed this, too.


End file.
